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Tuesday, 16 February 2016

Yesterday was the culmination of, on this occasion, ten
months (in total, over six years) of fighting for something to which I’m legally
entitled (PIP – Personal Independence Payment).For almost an hour, I was grilled continually by a panel of three appointed
individuals (a judge, a doctor and a workplace disability specialist), in order
to appeal a decision made by DWP assessors previously in the year.

The process of applying for PIP is notoriously lengthy. Unpleasant and painful past experiences meant
that I was somewhat reticent in my desire to once again put myself through what
I knew could be a very difficult ordeal but with words of encouragement from my
sleepy friends combined with a desire to not let the system beat me, I forged
ahead.

The first stage (April 2015) was a phonecall to DWP providing
some personal details in advance of a form to be completed in writing. Then followed the arduous completion of a ‘How
your disability affects you’ form consisting of 35 pages, which was submitted
with the support by a letter from my wonderful Narcolepsy UK advocate, along
with numerous items of evidence from people such as my consultant. The next stage (June/July 2015) was an assessment
courtesy of ATOS Healthcare, which resulted in a report, aka ‘rejection letter’,
that seemed to uncomprehendingly twist, manipulate and inaccurately represent
the conversations and other actions of the assessment, provoking in me a tumultuous
mix of indignation, anger, frustration and hurt, the result of which = severe
exacerbation of existing symptoms. Deep
breath. The next stage (August 2015) was
the ‘mandatory reconsideration’ stage – basically, a reasoned request that the
decision be re-examined, and the result?
No change whatsoever. So, to the
appeal stage (October 2015) it was. Four
months and one 105-page appeal pack later, and yesterday I finally got my day
in court, both metaphorically and literally, as the tribunal took place in a
Magistrates Court.

I don’t have the energy to go into detail but to my relief
and surprise (my faith in the system had thus far been ground-down to virtual
non-existence), my appeal was upheld. Although
I was not awarded all of what my experienced advocate felt to which I was
entitled (and what many other PWN are receiving), to me it still felt like a
victory. And, whilst the financial
benefit of being awarded PIP will of course go some way in taking off a teensy
bit of the edge of the challenges of living with a lifelong debilitating
neurological disorder and with a lifelong pain disorder, to me, the continual lack
of recognition of the impact and seriousness of these diseases was probably
what had hurt the most, and to have these impacts acknowledged, if only in
part, felt good.

One day later, and the modicum of doubt that will remain
until I know for certain that DWP have accepted the outcome of the tribunal is
still niggling away. Perhaps rather naively,
although I was aware of the stress the lead-up to the tribunal had been creating,
I was not at all prepared for the emotional wreck that I appear to have morphed
into overnight. I feel drained,
exhausted, over-sensitive to everything, and if not sobbing into my poor soggy T.
shirt, permanently on the brink of tears.

Not many people outside of my sleepy circle were aware that
I was going through the PIP application process – perhaps there was still a
part of me that feared rejection from those I considered friends as well as from
those in the decision-making process. Despite
ongoing increased awareness, Narcolepsy remains a hugely misunderstood
condition, and unless you live with it (as with any chronic disease), there is
no way that you can begin to comprehend how downright weird, frightening and debilitating
it is. Twenty five years after my first
sleep attack, and it still frightens me, although I, for one, have become
pretty adept at ‘hiding’ it from those around me.

So, life goes on. And
for those of you out there going through the PIP process, stay strong, keep
your dignity, never stop fighting, and don’t let the b***ards grind you down!

With huge thanks to Rebecca from Narcolepsy UK for being there
throughout, for fighting my corner (for me and on behalf of our wonderful
sleepy community), and for generally being a star. For more info about Narcolepsy UK, see: http://www.narcolepsy.org.uk/

Thursday, 18 December 2014

Bug-hunting, leaf-twitching,
data-analysing and me

Written for CISFBR (Cornwall & Isles of Scilly Federation of Biological Recorders) Newsletter

So,
what’s your PhD on then? Those immortal
words which, after several years of being a PhD researcher, still manage to provoke
in me a feeling of dread the moment they’re uttered. Depending on my audience (and after a deep
intake of breath), my response will vary, from ‘invertebrates, of the
non-native variety’ to ‘how non-native species interact with native species’ or
‘how non-native invertebrates do their stuff in native foodwebs’. The more scientific version/ working title of
my thesis is ‘The integration of non-native phytophagous invertebrates in
native interaction networks’, so now that I’ve got that out of the way, I’ll
attempt to shed some light on what that
actually means, and perhaps more pertinently, what I actually do.

It
all began with a Cornwall-based project proposal to investigate the indirect
effects of the introduction of a non-native insect, the release of which was
(is) hoped to help combat the massive ecological disaster that is the ever-increasing
presence of Japanese Knotweed Fallopia
japonica in Britain. In March 2010,
Defra granted approval for the host-specific psyllid Aphalara itadori to be used as a biological control agent, and its
release/monitoring programme is currently underway. Despite rigorous testing and scientific
research, the deliberate introduction of a non-native species has met, not
surprisingly given the popular history of past exploits, with varying degrees
of (dis)approval. I won’t go into the
arguments for and against the psyllid’s use here, other than to say that, given
my knowledge of psyllid ‘mechanics’ and host-specificity combined with the
devastating impact of Japanese Knotweed
on native ecosystems, I know in which camp I firmly sit.

Indirect
effects can probably best be described as the impact of the presence of a
species on another species via an intermediary species, and as such, can be
negative or positive – potentially harmful or potentially beneficial. Despite the thorough testing carried out prior
to the release of the psyllid, the indirect effects of its presence in native
foodwebs/interaction networks is not known, and from an applied point of view, there
is every possibility that some of these effects could prove useful in helping
to effectively control other species considered ‘pests’ in certain
circles. And this is where I was to come
in.

Due
to a combination of funding issues and thus far negligible impact of the
psyllid’s release, the above proposal soon developed into a less
species-specific but still Cornwall-focused project along similar lines. Rather ironically, considering the
oft-prevailing doubts surrounding the notion of a non-native species being
invited to reside amongst our very own flora and fauna, it soon became clear
that Aphalara itadori is a tiny, tiny
drop in the ocean of what is the presence of non-native species in Britain. The GB Non-native Species Secretariat currently
provides information for over 3000 non-native plant/animal species, describing
a non-native species as ‘a species that has been introduced into the country by
human intervention (either deliberately or accidentally) since the end of the
last ice age’.[1] But to put things into perspective, of these
3000+ species, only c. 10% are considered to impact negatively and/or
socio-economically[2],
although invasive non-native species are still designated as one of the main
drivers of biodiversity loss[3].

Introduction
routes for non-native species are numerous, with agriculture, aquaculture and
ornamental horticulture all playing significant roles – historically, most have
come from other parts of Europe but more recently, species have originated from
temperate Asia and North America. Keeping
with the theme of plant-munching (phytophagous) invertebrates, as per Aphalara itadori, many examples of such
exhibit host-specificity (specialist feeders), whereas others have evolved to
feed less restrictively (generalist feeders).
Non-native specialist feeders require particular host-plants, and being
non-native, more often than not, the latter will be a non-native species also,
which leads on nicely to the role of the host-plant.

What’s
so significant about Cornwall? Well, with
its southerly latitude and (in places, sub-tropical) maritime climate, Cornwall
is home to many flourishing gardens, featuring a large variety of exotic plants
from many different parts of the world. Add to this an increasing number of specialist
horticultural nurseries and an established agricultural trade, and there exists
a veritable Smörgåsbord of potential introduction means, habitats and
host-plants for non-native species. With
this in mind, one of my tasks is to sample a percentage of the invertebrate
population of Cornwall’s historic/municipal gardens in order to determine the
presence of non-native invertebrate fauna (and performing some possibly
complicated-sounding data analysis along the way). As a compulsive recorder of all things
biological, the prospect of purposefully poking my nose around Cornwall’s
gardens for days on end makes me very happy; of course, this is something I already
do on a routine basis, albeit rather more haphazardly. Yes, I‘m a self-confessed leaf-twitcher – get
me within 6 or so metres of a plant, and I have no choice but to turn over its leaves,
check its stems and peer into its flowers to seek out resident or visiting
invertebrates. Systematic surveying
aside, my leaf-twitching has already proved very rewarding, revealing all
manner of previously-overlooked species, as well as enabling an insight into
the microcosmic worlds that exist right under our noses.

Now,
I have another confession – before the commencement of my research, I knew very
little about psyllids, and definitely don’t recall actually having seen
one. They’re interesting little
critters, most closely related to aphids, whiteflies and scale-insects, and I personally
think that they resemble mini cicadas, although they are far less noisy than
their larger cousins. The number of
extant species in the world currently stands at 3338, just fewer than 100 of
which can be found in Britain[4]. According to my records, I have now managed to see 22
of these, 6 being non-native and including one species new to Europe: Cacopsylla fatsiae or tetrapanaxae (Fig. 1) (the jury’s still
out on which one it is, or even if the two species are actually one and the
same), an Asian species currently thriving on Fatsia japonica and Tetrapanax
papyrifer plants in West Cornwall, one species new to Britain: Agonoscena targionii (Fig. 2), a
European species very much at home on Pistacia
lentiscus at the Eden Project, and another species found at various
locations throughout southern Britain but new to Cornwall: Acizzia uncatoides (Fig. 3), an Australian species found on Paraserianthes lophantha (formerly Albizia
lophantha) in Penzance.

Psyllids
aren’t the only phytophagous invertebrates with which I’ve become uncommonly
closely acquainted. I’ve also befriended
a particularly attractive little-known aphid species Crypturaphis grassii (Fig.4),
believed to be monophagous, feeding only on Italian Alder Alnus cordata, and native to Corsica and Southern Italy. First recorded in the UK in 1998[5], it is found in relatively
low numbers throughout Britain, and was first recorded in Cornwall in 2011[6]. Another of my aims is to investigate the
potential for Crypturaphis grassii to
switch hosts to one or more related (congeneric) species, by means of a series
of host-preference tests, and also to find out more the species’ overall biology.

Figure 4: Crypturaphis grassii – aptera (length 2-3 mm)

Arguably
one of weirdest groups of phytophagous invertebrates about which I have had the
pleasure of finding out more has to be scale insects. Highly specialised plant parasites, appearance-wise,
scale insects are massively diverse (see Figure 5), with sexually mature females
exhibiting neoteny, the retention of immature external morphology. These mature females are usually immobile, feeding
in situ, whereas most of the early
instar nymphal stages (‘crawlers’) have functional legs and are highly mobile,
seeking out a suitable feeding spot for the subsequent stages of their
development. Short-lived winged adult
males occur in some species, when sexual reproduction will occur; however, as
in aphids, parthenogenesis is commonplace.

Linking
all of the above phytophagous invertebrates are parasitoids – parasitic
organisms that have often co-evolved to spend a significant portion of their
life (usually egg and/or larval stages) in or on its host, ultimately resulting
in the latter’s demise. The dynamics of
host-parasitoid relationships is a truly fascinating subject, and also a very
useful example of indirect effects, with numerous studies demonstrating how behaviours
such as predator-avoidance in one species can alter population densities,
feeding behaviours, reproduction strategies and similar in another. However, attempting to explain it further in
a straightforward, let alone succinct manner is proving too much for my addled
brain!

Other
examples of phytophagous invertebrates subject to my scrutiny include those
which live and feed inside plant tissue, such as leaf/stem-mining insects and
various gall-makers. The Horse Chestnut
Leafminer Cameraria ohridella (Fig.
6) is a prime example of a non-native leaf-mining moth, first recorded in
Britain in 2001/2 (Wimbledon), its distribution is increasing rapidly.[7] It causes significant, unsightly damage to
the foliage of Horse Chestnut Aesculus
hippocastanum (also non-native) and relatedtrees; however, as yet, there is no evidence of the moth’s
presence having any serious impact on the tree’s survival. Accordingly, I am about to embark on a
literature search to establish what is currently known about C. ohridealla and its parasitoid
complex, paying particular attention to known associations of parasitoids with
native hosts, clinal variation, novel interactions with native species,
etc.

Originally
posted in BioList 2013: http://biolist2012.blogspot.co.uk/2012/08/a-bioblitzing-we-will-go.html

“The
time has come”, the Blogger mused,

“To
write of many things:

Of
bugs – and bees – and butterflies –

Of
harvestmen – and – fleas

And
why the weather’s up the spout –

And
what to have for tea.”

(With
apologies to Lewis Carroll)

Hello
my little blog-friend, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I do hope you and
the family are keeping well. Eek, what to write – or perhaps that should
be ‘how to write’, given the number of mistakes I’m making as I type.
But… less of my personal failings and hang-ups - on with the job-in-hand.

In
the land of BioListing, recording and the generally
wonderful-but-perhaps-a-little-bit-nerdy world in which I’ve chosen to live,
the past few months have been dominated by BioBlitzes – 24-hour events during
which a given space is surveyed in order to find, identify and record as many
wild species as possible*.

The
first such event was the inaugural Tremough Bioblitz, which took place at the
Combined Universities in Cornwall Tremough Campus in Penryn, and was admirably
organised by University of Exeter Centre for Ecology & Conservation
undergraduates. A highly organised event, which was open to the
public for only some of the 24 hours, as a so-called ‘expert’, I’d been
enlisted to lead a number of walks. Despite the best-laid plans, these
turned into just the one walk, with the remainder of the time spent going about
the usual business of wandering around, rummaging here, there and everywhere,
with senses on full alert. Disappointingly, the weather left a little to
be desired, so it was definitely a case of nipping outside between
downpours. It was all a rather hectic yet fun experience, with some new
species to add to the list: aphids, millipedes and plants, and some lovely new
people met. And, needless to say, one of the additional highlights of the
event was the presence of a certain Nick Baker…

The Small
Person with Nick Baker at Tremough BioBlitz

Next
up was the third Rosewarne BioBlitz – a thoroughly enjoyable low-key event at
Duchy College, Rosewarne near Camborne, where the usual suspects (plus a
handful of extras) were on hand to get stuck into the job of seeking out all
things wild and wonderful that reside on the extensive college site. For
once, the sun was shining, and we really couldn’t have asked for a nicer day,
encompassing some inspirational botanising, dragonfly- and butterfly-pursuing
antics in the wildlife garden, a relaxed sojourn by the wildlife pond, a group
venture to the site’s outer limits, and some frantic moth-recording by means of
a light and white sheet. Highlights are too numerous to list in full but
include the first ever Common Lizards Zootoca vivipara for the
site, some lovely bugs, and some rather comical Screech Beetles Hygrobia
hermanni.

Common Lizard Zootoca vivipara at Rosewarne BioBlitz

Then,
the weekend of July 21-22 saw another inaugural event – the Garden BioBlitz:http://www.naturewatched.org/gbb.html A
combination of very little notice and having prior commitments meant that I was
unable to give this the level of attention that I would have liked to.
However, on the Saturday, I did manage to spend a couple of (very hot) hours in
my tiny, tiny jungle before being whisked away to experience the joys of
Lafrowda Day in St. Just in the far, far west (as opposed to simply the far
west), whilst on the Sunday, a far more concerted effort was made in fellow
BioLister Brenda’s larger outdoor space.

What
it lacks in area, our little garden certainly makes up for in species
diversity, so despite only managing a couple of hours of investigating, all
manner of goodies were uncovered. Having a certain inclination towards
the smaller, multi-legged creatures of this world, I took great delight in
observing multiple colonies of five different aphid species, one of which was
new to me: Cavariella pastinacae – found busy at work on the
Parsnip plants leftover from last year’s vegetable-growing efforts. Other
new species included a single Lacehopper Cixius nervosus, a vast
quantity of mines on Aquilegia produced by the dipteran larvae Phytomyza
minuscula, and a previously-unnoticed rust Puccinia pulverulenta on
the omnipresent Broad-leaved Willowherb Epilobium montanum.

Macrosiphum rosae on Teasel Dipsacus fullonum Garden BioBlitz

Blitzing
Brenda’s garden proved to be equally (if not more) rewarding, perhaps notably
due to the excitement of finding a thriving population of the Pittosporum
psyllid Trioza vitreoradiata, hanging out, rather appropriately on
Pittosporum bushes. Admittedly, psyllids aren’t or wouldn’t be
everybody’s cup of tea but each to their own, I guess! In addition to my
rather lovely psyllid, I was able to add another new bug to my list, this time
a late instar Field Damsel Bug Nabis ferus, which was merrily
wandering around Brenda’s mini-meadow, as were Common Green Capsids Lygocoris
pabulinus and a good number of bouncy Common Froghoppers Philaenus
spumarius.

A
few unidentified odds and ends (mainly spiders and flies) notwithstanding,
nearly 80 species were recorded for my little garden and about 150 for Brenda’s
– not a bad weekend’s work, especially considering we had no moth trap to hand
and lacked the time to have a really hardcore rummage in the undergrowth, let
alone a decent delve into the soily depths. Who knows how many more
species we might have unearthed!

So,
the sun was shining, the tent was packed, some strange cakes had been made, and
off we headed to Lizard Land, with Brenda in tow. Itching to get started,
we unloaded our stuff and took up residence in what was to be our home for the
weekend. It wasn’t long before other participants turned up, although the
Up Country component didn’t make it for about another hour, and at 2pm, it was
time to get started. But where to begin? I’d been eyeing up the
nearby large patch of nettles and thistles, so for me it was easy, even if it
did mean losing my starting companions, who headed off across a field towards
one of the ponds/scrapes. However, my nettle-poking efforts were soon
interrupted by Warden-Andy and the invitation to accompany him in checking the
known Adder Vipera berus sites. How could I resist such
an offer?! After being rewarded with the find of several Adders (all
female) enjoying the warmth provided by sheets of corrugated material, I was
drawn to the allure of the dragonfly pond around the corner, whereupon I was
greeted by the sight of Dragonfly-Steve thigh-deep in the water, busy
collecting dragonfly and damselfly exuviae, which must have numbered in their
hundreds. Rather reluctantly, I managed to tear myself away from the
dragonfly pond and all its glistening winged jewels, and headed off to the
remarkably dry wet woodland, via a meadow alive with grasshoppers, butterflies
and all manner of buzzing insects.

A Froghopper Neophilaenus lineatus Windmill Farm BioBlitz

Now,
BioBlitzing certainly takes its toll, and after totting up a good number of
species, reuniting with lost companions and greeting friends from afar, it was
time to head back for a breather and to sort out notes, sort out unidentified
finds, and generally recompose oneself.

After a continuation of much of the same, mainly involving sweeping through
vegetation, turning over leaves and beating trees, it wasn’t soon before the
sun began to set (rather beautifully) and talk turned rather animatedly, to moth-traps.
I’m not entirely sure how many moth-traps were put in place around the site
that evening but they numbered at least five. Some rather intrepid
BioBlitzers spent most of the night in the vicinity of one particular trap,
interspersed with the odd 40 winks every now and again, in an attempt to record
moths that decided to drop in for a passing visit only. Despite
protestations of low night-time temperatures and moth numbers being low
generally, come the morning, there was a good variety of furry, winged beasties
on which to feast our eyes.

Drinker Euthrix potatoria Windmill Farm BioBlitz

Then
it was back out there in an effort to up numbers before our 24 hours were
up. All-in-all, an excellent time seemed to be had by all (even if I did
spend the next couple of days prostrate on the settee, hurting from head to
toe), with 400+ species being recorded. The big question is, when and
where will the next one be? Bring it on, I say!

A Snowy DayJanuary 21, 2013

Originally posted in BioList 2013:

The 'land
at the back of the village hall'

Having twenty minutes or so spare before we needed to depart for the day’s
activities, I decided to pop outside to take some photos of what experience had
taught me would be a short-lived covering of snow. Whilst most of the
country had been snowed under for some time, our little bit of Cornwall had
been basking glorious sunshine. OK, so I might be exaggerating somewhat
but sunshine had definitely been a feature! Anyhow, I digress. So,
wellies donned and woolly hat pulled over my ears, with camera in hand, I
trundled off for a quick crunch around the village - down the hill, around the
corner, past the church and the pub, and through the wrought iron gates into
the area of land behind the village hall.

I’m never really sure what to call the ‘land behind
the village hall’ – part is an open green space, part is given over to planted,
spiral flower beds, a grass-covered mound aka the ‘sleeping dragon’, some
rustic benches, a willow erection and a rather lovely carved wooden seal, the
latter in memory of a local Mousehole resident, and some serves as an extension
to the church graveyard. The area is lined with a rather interesting
collection of tress, including sallows, myrtles and sycamores. These
trees are proving to be a fabulous haven for a massive array of lichens, mosses
and liverworts, many of which I am thus far sadly only to admire without being
able to confidently give them a name.

With the exception of community events, such as the
annual church summer fête, more often than not the ‘land behind the village
hall’ is free of people, allowing one to wander at will, leaf-turning to one’s
heart’s content, and generally pottering about without the ever-present
awareness that at any given moment, one will turn around to find somebody
watching one with that characteristic look – the look that says, ‘I’m not
really sure of what you’re doing, I’m not really sure that it’s a very normal
thing for one to be doing but I think I’ll stand here and watch anyway, and
with any luck, I’ll be able to catch your eye, then I’ll be able to make some
witty remark about whatever it is I think you might be doing, before moving on
and leaving you to get on with whatever it is you’re actually doing’.

Well, fortunately, this morning was no exception,
and it was little ol’ me, my camera and the birds. Taking care not to
slip on the gravestones which form the paved path leading from the entrances to
the newer graves area at the end, I carefully made my way along the path,
stopping every now and again to photograph the snow-covered features and nearby
buildings as I went. In the trees furthest from me were chattering Rooks
and Jackdaws, up above soared Herring Gulls, and hopping about only ever a few
feet from me, was a glossy male Blackbird, no doubt on the look-out from tasty
worms and other titbits. Then, as I neared the end of the path, something
caught my eye – a brilliant flash of red, as something flew swiftly from the
ground up into the corvids’ tree. That scarlet flash and the
characteristic flight that followed could mean only one thing – a Great Spotted
Woodpecker. Given their relatively new-found fondness for garden
birdfeeders, you might think that my excitement at seeing a Great Spotted
Woodpecker is somewhat over-the-top; however, it was the first time I’d seen
one in the village, and anyway, why shouldn’t I get excited about seeing a
Great Spotted Woodpecker?! Too soon it was time to wander back home in
order to depart for the day…

·
· ·

With the snow now pretty much all gone and the sun
shining away merrily, we decided to interrupt our journey home with a stopover
at Helston Boating Lake. Here we hoped to see the Whooper Swan which had
popped in for a visit but rather disappointingly we were out of luck, as
despite having been seen here earlier the same day, it was now nowhere to be
found. Still, the friendly Mute Swans managed to win us over with their
affections – the comedy of their ever-probing beaks coupled with their
searching, dark eyes that eyed us longingly, wordlessly saying, ‘Feed me, feed me’.
We were also treated to an unexpected performance by a pair of ‘dancing’
Shovelers – a first for me in Cornwall.

Dunnock,
Helston Boating Lake

Boating lake fully-circled, apple trees duly
inspected for woolly aphids and psyllids (still too early), just as we were
about to get into the car, I happened to spot the unmistakeable sight of the
town’s sewage treatment works. Golly gosh, how exciting! Now, I
have to emphasise that sewage works wouldn’t be my usual first choice of places
in which to hang out but I’d been hearing interesting things about Helston
Sewage Works – something to do with Siberian Chiffchaffs? Of course,
there was fat chance of my being able to identify a Siberian Chiffchaff but I
still couldn’t resist further investigation. After nipping off for a
quick recce, I soon returned to gather the troops, filling their ears with the
promise of ‘Goldcrests, funny finches and lots of little brown jobs’. Who
knew there was so much fun to be had at a sewage works? Mind you, the
lingering aroma wasn’t particularly pleasant but the thirty or so Goldcrests,
funny finches (some turned out to be of the Gold variety but we were unable to
properly make out the others), Chiffchaffs galore (some possibly of the
Siberian variety…), Long-tailed Tits and other feathered delights more than
made up for it.

And after that, it was
time to go home… but not before waving a quick ‘hello’ to a Snipe and a
Little Grebe at Marazion Marsh and a fleeting visit to Penzance’s Battery Rocks
to smile at the antics of the rather lovely semi-resident Purple Sandpipers.
All in all, a proper job of a birdy day!